


A Day at the Zoo

by tuppenny



Series: Growing Together [17]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I think that's it - Freeform, race smokes and says it's good for you but don't listen to him SMOKING IS BAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 07:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14950244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuppenny/pseuds/tuppenny
Summary: Ellie has a day out with Uncle Race and Uncle Spot.





	A Day at the Zoo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gracedameron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracedameron/gifts).



> For Grace & Mirkwoodsguardian, who requested a story with Spot & Race babysitting my sassy little monster child <3
> 
> Jack & Kath are 30/31, Spot is 28/29, Race is 28, Ellie turns 4 in a month, Nicky is 17 months old, and Theo is a newborn.

**February 1913**

“Higgins!” 

Race whirled around from working on his car to see Jack leaning on the fence that walled the garage off from the street. “Heya, Jackie. Be right with ya.” He wiped the oil off his hands and undid the chain that kept the gate shut, letting Jack saunter into the yard. “Whatcha need?”

“A babysitter.”

Race raised an eyebrow. “How many kids’re we talkin’ here?”

“Just Ellie,” Jack said, fiddling with his newsboy cap. 

“Hmm.”

“Just f’r an afternoon,” Jack wheedled. “She’s been dyin’ ta see you’n Spot, an’ she’s been givin’ me’n Kath fits. We needs a break.”

Race folded his wiry arms across his chest. “You ain’t sellin’ this well, Kelly.” 

“She’s jealous,” Jack explained. “She an’ Nicky get along great most of the time, but you know how competitive she is, an’ what with the new baby an’ all, well, I think she’s just feelin’ a little overlooked.”

“And your solution to that is to kick her outta the house altogether?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “If ya don’t wanna watch her, just say so.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, ya as good as did. I know she ain’t the easiest kid in the world, but I thought ya _liked_ her, Racer. I ain’t tryin’ ta put you out.”

“I _do_ like her,” Race protested, taking a drag on his cigar. “I just likes needling you more.” He grinned, blowing the smoke out into Jack’s face. 

Jack coughed and glared. “Hell if I know why we’s friends. You’s a real pain, ya know that?”

“I do,” Race said loftily, twirling the cigar between his fingers. “In fact, I prides myself on it.” 

Jack’s nostrils flared, but he kept his cool. “So, you gonna watch her or not?”

“I’d be happy to, Chief,” Race said, giving Jack a salute. “When d’you want me ta pick her up?”

“Saturday noon?”

“Perfect. Spotty’s only workin’ a half day this weekend, so he’ll get ta join the fun.”

Jack scanned Race’s face to see if that was sarcasm or not. “It _will_ be fun,” he insisted, laying a hand on Race’s shoulder. “She just needs a little more attention than Kath an’ I have had time an’ energy for, an’ you an’ Spot’ll clear that right up. She adores you two; she talks about ya all the time.”

Race’s face softened, and he patted Jack’s hand. “I was just givin’ you a hard time f’r the heck of it, Jackie. Ellie-girl is always welcome at ours. She’s a hoot an’ a half, that one, an’ we enjoys bein’ the fun uncles.” He shifted uncertainly, then added, “Means a lot ta us that ya trust us with her, too. A... a lotta people wouldn't.” 

The frustration on Jack’s face melted away, and he beamed, clapping his free hand to the side of Race’s face before winking and leaving the yard. “Thanks, kid,” he said, waving back at Race as he pulled the gate shut. “See ya Saturday.”

 

*

 

Race picked a stray puff of cotton off of Spot’s shirt as they hiked up the stairs to Jack and Katherine’s.

“Thanks,” Spot said. “Thought I got ‘em all, but…” he shrugged, and so did Race. Working in a cotton mill meant finding cotton everywhere, all the time. In Spot’s hair, coating his skin, coughing fibers up from his lungs… Well, it was a job, and it paid. 

“If you’d let me get inta air racing—” 

“I don’t care how much money it pays, Tony. I told ya once, an’ I’ll tell ya again—I don’t want ya hurtlin’ through the air an’ splattin’ on the ground.”

“I already did that when the Renault crashed, an’ look at me now—totally fine!”

“That was different. Weren’t so far to fall.”

“You’s always tellin’ me my skull is so thick ain’t nothin’ c'n crack it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really wanna test that theory.”

“Oh, c'mon, it’s—”  

“Hey,” Spot said, holding up a hand. “You hear that?”

The unmistakable sound of a crying child echoed through the stairwell.

Race grimaced. “Ya don’t think it’s Ellie, do ya?”

Spot rolled his eyes. “ _‘Course_ it’s Ellie. Who else would it be?”

“Nic’las?” Race said hopefully. “Theo?” 

“You’s an idiot,” Spot said, continuing up the stairs.

Race was, in fact, an idiot—Eleanor had been lying in front of the door and screaming for the last ten minutes. Race knocked a little uncertainly at the door. “Jackie? It’s us.” 

Most of Race’s hello was drowned out by another screech from Eleanor, but the boys heard Jack say, “Thank heavens. Gimme a sec, boys…” Then some murmurs, an exasperated, “Eleanor, your uncles are outside, and they can’t get in because you’re blocking the door. You’ve gotta move,” and some shuffling.

Then: “ _No,_ I can’t open it when you’re right there. I’ll hit you in the back with the door.” 

A wail, a whine, a “You gotta calm down if you want to play with your uncles today. Children throwing temper tantrums don’t get to go to the zoo. Only kind, polite children get to go to the zoo.”

Sniffles, little feet kicking the floor. “Eleanor Joy, do you wanna play with your uncles today or not? It’s up to you.”

“ _Yes!”_

“Okay, then you need to stop crying and move.”

Sad hiccups. 

“You need some time to calm down, baby? Yeah? Okay. I’ll let your uncles in an’ we’ll go to your bedroom an’ read your cat book to calm down. Okay?” Pause. “Okay.” Jack cleared his throat then and raised his voice to say, “Hey, fellas, I’m gonna unlock the door, so come on in whenever. Ellie needs a minute, but we’ll be right with you. Help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen while you wait—Specsy’s wife brought over a casserole last night, an’ we didn’t manage to finish it.”

“Okay, Jackie,” Race called, and he waited for the sound of Jack’s footsteps to fade before opening the door, wanting to be sure Ellie was really and truly out of the way.

Spot rubbed the back of his neck as Race moved into the kitchen and served up two helpings of casserole, which he then held until they’d moved into the living room, where Spot could use his steady hand to hold his fork and a table to hold his food. Race had just taken a deep breath to give Katherine an enthusiastic greeting when Spot kicked him in the shin. “Shh, she’s sleeping!”

Race blinked. Spot was right (again)—Katherine was conked out on the couch, polka-dot dress slipping off her right shoulder, cotton nursing blanket crumpled by her feet, one-month-old Theodore in her arms. Nicholas was also in the living room, though, and he was very much not asleep. “Waypot!” He yelled, the wooden car in his hand going flying as he flung his arms up in excitement.

Katherine snorted and startled awake, somehow managing not to jostle Theo in the process. “Wha?”

“Hey Kath,” Spot said, settling down on the floor in front of the coffee table. “Me ‘n Race is here ta kidnap your eldest.” 

“Oh, did she stop crying?” She rubbed her eyes and listened for Eleanor’s screams.

“Yeah; Jackie’s calmin’ her down with a book or somethin’.” 

“Right,” she said, leaning her head back onto the couch and closing her eyes again. 

“Waypot!” Nicky interjected, causing Katherine to groan.

“Yes, Bug, it’s Waypot.”

Spot and Race shared a look. “Kath?”

“Hmm?”

Spot made an impatient gesture. “Explain, please?” 

“Oh,” she said, opening her eyes again and giving them a grin that turned into a yawn. “He’s talking about you. You’re Waypot.” 

“Huh? Who?” Race set his fork down on his plate, and Spot raised his eyebrows.

“Well, he only ever sees the two of you together,” she explained, “And we almost always talk about you in tandem, too, so…” She looked over at Nicholas, who had gone on a hunt for the car he’d thrown moments earlier. “He’s decided your name is Waypot.”

“ _Both_ of us?” Spot demanded.

Katherine nodded. “Watch this.” She waved her hand to get her son’s attention and unconsciously switched into the voice she used with small children. “Nicky, who’s this?” She asked, pointing to Spot.

“Waypot,” Nicky said dutifully, ready to return to searching for his car. 

Katherine pointed to Race. “And this?”

She had to repeat herself several times to regain Nicholas’ attention, but once he found his car, he looked back at his mother, then over at Race. “Waypot,” he said, returning to the couch to push the car over the cushions.

Katherine smiled. “See?”

A smartly-dressed Eleanor marched into the room. “That’s not Waypot,” she said. “That’s Uncle Race an’ Uncle Spot!” She looked at the grown-ups for approval, then wrapped Nicholas in a too-tight hug. “Silly Nicky! You’re just not as smart as me.”

“Eleanor!” Katherine snapped, her smile gone. “That’s not nice, and it’s also not true. You’re not smarter than Nicholas—you’re just older.”

“But he says stuff wrong!” Ellie protested.

“So do you! And besides, he’s a _baby_ ,” Katherine said. “Babies learn to talk by trying out sounds. You sounded like that when you were his age, you know.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at this blatant lie—Eleanor had always been preternaturally verbal—but his wife’s glare held him silent. 

“It’s a factual inaccuracy in the name of good parenting,” she said primly, and he nodded.

“Yep.” He pulled Eleanor away from Nicky and moved her towards the door. “Let’s get your shoes and jacket on while your uncles finish up their lunch, okay?” he soothed, hoping to defray another tantrum.

“Okay,” she said, disappearing into the hallway. “I am smarter than Nicky, though, Daddy. Don’t tell Mommy, but I am.”

Katherine groaned and flopped her head back onto the couch. “We’ve hit the reverse Oedipal phase,” she said, staring at the ceiling.

“Sure ya have,” Race said, although he had no idea what he was agreeing to. “It’ll be fine.”

“Jack can do no wrong, and I can do no right,” Katherine explained, sighing. “Oh well. There are worse things than being chopped liver.”

“Like not takin’ your niece to the zoo,” Spot said, rising and heading over to pull his own coat back on. “Let’s go, Waypot. Stop bein’ a slowpoke.” 

Race guffawed. “Ha! You just called yourself a slowpoke!”

“Nnngh,” Spot growled. “Just put ya coat on, idi—uh, Race.” He cast a wary glance at Eleanor, who was blithely tugging on her fur-lined boots. 

“Ready!” She said, and gave Jack a big hug. “Bye, Daddy! Have fun today!”

“Thanks, Bunny,” he said fondly, tugging her hat down just a little lower and making sure it was tied snugly underneath her chin. “You, too.”

Eleanor ran to kiss her mother goodbye as Jack shook hands with the boys. “Thanks again, fellas. As you c’n see, she needs ta get out an’ we… well. Yeah. Good luck.”

“Don’t worry, Jackie,” Spot said gruffly. “We got this. See ya this evenin’.”

“Okay. Oh, and she’s started phasing out her nap recently, but she might get floppy on you around three. No problem if she doesn’t, but if she does, just pop her on a couch or something. She’s not picky about that.”

“Right,” said Race, holding his hand out to Eleanor, who grasped it firmly in her own. “We’s off, then. Bye!”

After a round of waves and kiss-blowing between Ellie and Jack, the trio was off. 

“To the zoo!” Spot said with a grin, and Ellie squealed in excitement. Race grinned, too. This was going to be fun.

 

*

 

“Hey, you got your wallet?” Spot asked as they neared the Central Park Zoo, and both men paused to start patting through their pockets.

Eleanor, however, marched right up to the ticket booth.

“Hang on a sec, Ellie-girl, you gotta wait until we find our money ta pay for the tickets,” Race called, pulling up his jacket to start rifling through his pants pockets. “Ya can’t just walk in.”

“I _know,”_ Ellie said, rolling her eyes and slipping a gloved hand into her coat pocket as she stood on her tiptoes to see the cashier. “Three tickets, please,” she said, pulling out a fifty-cent piece and slapping it onto the counter. “One for me, an’ two for my uncles,” she explained, pointing back to Race and Spot, who’d frozen in odd positions while watching Ellie take charge.

“Certainly, miss,” the cashier said with a smile, quickly making change for Eleanor and handing her the tickets. “Enjoy your day.”

“Thank you!” Ellie chirped, racing back to her uncles and handing them their tickets. “Let’s go! I wanna see Hattie!”

“Right,” Spot said, blinking. He supposed he oughtn’t to be surprised—this kid had always had Katherine’s chutzpah and Jack’s charm. He clasped Eleanor’s outstretched hand and allowed himself to be towed off to see the animals. 

Ellie led them straight to the elephant, where she pressed herself as close to the cage as was humanly possible. Race squatted down next to her and laid an arm across her shoulders. “Well, wow-ee, check out that Ellie-phant!”

She giggled and knocked her shoulder into his. “Uncle Raaaaace! That’s not how you say it!” 

“It’s not?”

“Nooo!”

“Whaaaat? But I thought your parents named ya after this lovely lady,” he said, aghast.

“No!” She made a face at him. “That’s silly.”

“Are you sure about that, Miss Elephant Kelly?”

“Uncle Race! That’s not right!” 

“I think it is.” 

“It isn’t!” 

“Well, what is it, then?”

“Elea _nor_ Kelly,” she said, hands on her hips. “Not Ele _phant_ Kelly.” 

“Hmm,” he said, tapping her gently on the nose. “I think we’s gonna hafta ask your parents just to be sure. Because I’m pretty sure you’s Elephant Kelly, big sister ta Octopus Kelly an’ Theo-bear Kelly.”

“Nooooo!” She squealed, her hands gripping the metal bars of the cage as she leaned backwards in amusement and frustration. “It’s Eleanor, Nicholas, an’ Theo _dore_ , Uncle Race!”

Race pursed his lips. “Uncle Spot?” 

Spot grunted. 

“Care ta weigh in?”

“I thought their names was Smelly, Picky, and Trio,” Spot said, tossing a zoo-approved cracker to Hattie the elephant.

Ellie groaned. “Tree-o isn’t even a _word_ , Uncle Spot!”

“I’m pretty sure it is,” Race said, thoughtfully. “It means three.”

“Oh,” Eleanor said. She thought for a moment, brow furrowed, then exclaimed, “I’m trio years old!”

“That’s right,” Race said, tugging on a curl that had escaped Ellie’s pink winter hat and watching it bounce back into place. Ellie nodded, very pleased with herself, and turned back to watch the elephant. Race’s knees creaked as he rose to stand next to Spot, who was watching Eleanor. “Havin’ fun?”

“Yeah,” Spot said. “She’s cute.” Race nodded, and Spot said, “Hey, Ellie-girl—how’re you likin’ your new baby, huh?”

“He’s okay,” Ellie said glumly, slouching away from Hattie the elephant and kicking at clumps of snow as she led the boys to the next animal.

“Just okay?”

She sighed. “Well, there’s only one of him.” 

Spot raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“I wanted Mommy to have _twins_ ,” she said, spreading her arms wide and lifting her head so they could see the disappointment on her face.

“Twins?” Race asked.

“Yeah,” Ellie said, her big brown eyes plaintive. “Like you an’ Mommy.” 

Race half choked. “What?” 

“I bet it’s nice havin’ a twin,” she said wistfully, turning back around to search for swans on the frozen pond before looking up at Race. “Is it nice, Uncle Race?”

“I… What makes you think your Mom an’ I are twins, El?” 

“You have the same _name,”_ she said, exasperated by her uncle’s inability to fathom incredibly simple things. 

“Is that so?” Spot asked, amused. “Okay—what’s your mom’s name, then?”

She rolled her eyes. “ _Race!_ I just told you that.”

Race blinked. “Honey, your mom—” 

“Up bup bup,” Spot said loudly, cutting Race off. “An’ how d’ya know that, Ellie?”

“Because Daddy always calls her that,” Ellie said, crouching down to poke holes in the snowdrift. “Look, Uncle Spot, I’m makin’ air holes f’r the ants!”

“Well, gee, Eleanor, I’m sure they’ll ‘preciate that.” 

“Mhmm,” she said, continuing to jab at the snow with her finger. “Ants like air.” 

“Yup,” said Spot, trying desperately not to laugh at the bemused look on Race’s face. “We’ll hafta tell Uncle Race’s twin about how nice you’s bein’ ta the animals today.” Race elbowed him hard, and Spot burst into a chuckle. “How ‘bout that, Racer? You’s got a sister ya never even knew ya had. Race an’ Ace, curly-headed twins.” Race rolled his eyes and smacked Spot upside the head, resulting in a short, good-natured scuffle. 

Eleanor was completely oblivious to all of this, too absorbed by her ant philanthropy project to care what her uncles were doing. Eventually, though, she lost interest, dusted her snowy, wet gloves off on her skirt, and said, “I’m hungry.”

“Café?” Spot asked Race, jerking his head to the small indoor area of the zoo.

“Sure,” Race said, reaching for Eleanor’s hand. 

She wriggled out of his grip and stuck her hand in her pocket, not in the mood for hand-holding. “I want a sammich,” she announced, and marched off to the café. 

Soon enough all three of them were installed at a dainty little café table, sandwiches in hand. Race had picked an abandoned newspaper up from a nearby booth and was flipping idly through the pages, thinking about how he’d have twisted these headlines to make them sell better. Spot took a pull from his mug of coffee and nodded his thanks to Ellie, who had silently transferred a pickle and two thick tomato slices from her plate to his. Spot and Race scarfed down their food the way they always had, the way Jack did, but Katherine’s example seemed to be prevailing with Eleanor, who was singing a made-up song about lions and babies as she pushed her French fries around on her plate. 

“Ain’t ya gonna eat those, Ellie?” Spot asked, whose driving instinct was still to swallow every bit of food in sight as soon as it was offered to him (and sometimes even if it wasn't). 

Ellie gasped. “I can’t _eat_ ‘em, Uncle Spot, these’re my lion babies!”

“Well, either you eat your lion babies or I will. Food is f’r eatin’, not playin’.”

Race rolled his eyes at this unnecessary ultimatum, and Ellie heaved a sigh before grumpily shoving a flattened fry into her mouth.

“That’s better,” Spot said with a nod, rising to refill his coffee. “Ya want anythin’ else, Racer?”

“Nah,” Race said, pulling out a cigar and lighting it. “A smoke oughta do me f’r dessert.”

At his first exhaled breath, Eleanor yelped. “Uncle Race! Don’t do that!”

“What’s that, El?”

“Stop smoking!” 

Race squinted at her. “Why?”

“Ohhhh, I have a headache now,” she wailed dramatically, flinging an arm across her forehead. “It hurts, it hurts!” 

“Ellie,” Race said, his tone warning. “You’s foolin’. No one gets a headache that fast.”

“I do!” Ellie insisted, leaning towards him, her eyes wide. “Smokin’ makes me sick!”

“Smokin’s good f’r your health,” Race countered. “Clears out your lungs. Ya c’n read it right here in the paper, see?” He flipped the daily so it would be right-side-up for her and jabbed his finger at a prominent ad.

Eleanor frowned.

Race wiggled his eyebrows in satisfaction, and Eleanor huffed, resuming her meal. Spot noticed the tension when he returned. “What’s got ya outta sorts, kid?” 

“Hmmpf,” Ellie said, scowling at her plate. 

“C’mon,” Spot wheedled. “You c’n tell me.” 

“Little Miss Fibber over here says she’s got a headache from the smoke,” Race said, stifling the urge to roll his eyes. “One puff an’ she was toast.” 

“Smokin’s good f’r ya, Ellie,” Spot said. “I don’t think it gives people headaches.”

“It does!” She insisted, meeting Spot’s eyes. “It does, Uncle Spot! Daddy gets ‘em all the time when Uncle Race comes over!”

“What?” Race exclaimed, pulling the cigar from his mouth. “Stop lying, Eleanor.”

“F’r real,” she said. “He said it, Uncle Race, I promise, he said he loves you but he hates your cigar, an’ then Mommy asked why, an’ he said ‘cause he gets headaches.” She looked from Race to Spot and back again before she remembered that she was supposed to be ill. “Ohhh,” she said, slumping backwards in her chair. “An’ I get them, too, just like Daddy. Ow!” 

Spot made a face at Race, who shook his head and stubbed out his cigar. They were much better at spotting Eleanor’s untruths than they used to be, and they knew that although she was lying about her own headache, she wasn’t lying about her father’s. Race ran a hand through his curls in frustration. “I can’t believe that the little fu—uh, that Jack never told me,” he said. “We’ve known each other twenty years now, an’ I been smokin’ f’r most of ‘em.” 

Spot shrugged. “You know Jack. Goes ta bat f’r ev’rybody but himself.”

“True,” Race sighed. “Well, now I know.”

“Yep,” said Spot, shooting a glance over at Eleanor, whose eyes were beginning to droop with exhaustion. “Outta the mouths of babes.”

“Mmm.”

They watched Ellie for a minute, laughing silently as her head sagged lower and lower. Once Spot judged she was actually asleep, he moved to relieve her of the half-eaten French fry clutched tightly in her fist.

“No!” She cried, her eyes fluttering back open as she jammed the French fry into her mouth and chewed rapidly. “No,” she sighed, her eyes falling closed again and her head lolling forwards.

Spot snorted, and Race chuckled. 

“She’s got the right idea, though,” Race said thoughtfully. “I could use a nap.”

“Go on, then,” Spot said, pulling the paper across to him.

“I don’t wanna leave you up on your own,” Race protested, but Spot scoffed. 

“I got a paper ta entertain me, dingbat. ‘Sides, I just had all that coffee, ain’t no way I’m sleepin’ now. You get some shuteye,” he said, nodding firmly. “I’ll look after my two sleepyheads.” 

“Okay, Waypot,” Race said, grinning, just barely dodging the fry that Spot threw at him in response. Race winked, stuck his feet up on the empty chair next to him, and pulled his cap over his eyes. “Thanks.” 

“Sure,” Spot said, his eyes sparkling with the hint of a smile. “Sweet dreams, kids.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hattie was an elephant who lived at the Central Park Zoo in the early 1900s. She would perform tricks and play the harmonica. The café is potentially made up; didn’t feel like examining the layout diagrams of the zoo closely enough to see.


End file.
